


Mirrored Perspective

by coloursflyaway



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Damian is around 20, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Halloween, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:12:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8426902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloursflyaway/pseuds/coloursflyaway
Summary: In which there is a Halloween party, Grayson’s eyes are too blue and Damian has to reveal his favourite holiday.





	

It’s just past nine, only an hour into this sad excuse of a Halloween party, and yet Damian is already considering stabbing himself through the hand with one of the wooden sticks used to hold the artfully constructed hors d’oeuvres together just to have an excuse to leave. He’s more than aware that it’s far from a perfect plan – it would leave him banned from patrol for at least a week, might subject him to an uncomfortable conversation about expressing his emotions with either Pennyworth of Grayson – but it’s the only one he can think of right now. After all, this costume of his, the one Grayson got for him (“ _But look, Dami, a prince! Don’t you think it fits?”_ ) doesn’t allow him to carry any weapons, not even his handheld console to maybe hide in a corner and try to ignore all of this.  
Damian doesn’t _know_ whose idea these festivities were, but seeing that his father hasn’t even bothered to show up, Drake is looking as bored as he is and Todd has been trying to sneak off with a bottle of vodka from the bar at least three time, whereas Grayson is in full costume, a Zorro mask tied across his face and a rapier dangling on his belt, Damian can at least guess.

“Anyway, I read somewhere you like animals”, the girl in front of him – Mandy, Mary, some name Damian would have remembered if he had any interest in this conversation – warbles, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered across her face. She has been attempting to make small talk with him for the last eleven minutes and approximately forty seconds, and with every word coming from her uncomfortably red lips, the wooden picks seem more appealing. “Have you seen the new panda baby they have at the Gotham zoo yet?”  
“I haven’t found the time yet”, Damian answers, tries not to sound as uninterested as he actually is. It’s a lie too – he would have found the time easily, but is still waiting, hoping for Grayson to take him. No matter how clueless the older man usually is, he has to pick up on the hints Damian keeps dropping with words and flyers and faked spam emails sent from different newly made accounts eventually.  
“Well, maybe we can make some time next week…together”, she drawls, looks up at Damian through mascara-dark eyelashes, a strand of blonde plastic hair falling into her face. “Make it a date.”  
“Of course…”, Damian answers slowly, unsure, because even after a decade of being Bruce Wayne’s son, he is not used to these situation, doesn’t know how to get out of them without inflicting more pain than necessary, and thus, displeasing Grayson.

He’s still trying to think up an excuse that sounds at least close to believable, looking down into her painted, expectant face, when there is a tap to his shoulder, a muttered _Excuse me_ in a voice Damian knows better than his own. Without thinking, he turns, and for a moment, wonders how someone’s eyes can be so blue that they are blinding.  
It shouldn’t be possible for all he knows, at least not without the enhancements Damian knows Grayson doesn’t have, and yet looking at his former mentor’s face is the same as looking at the sun. Perhaps worse.  
“While I know my little brother is delightful company, would you mind if I borrowed him for a moment?”, Grayson asks, oblivious to the rather unpleasant fluttering in Damian’s stomach that seems to go hand-in-hand with any closeness between them. Like this, he cannot see the expression on the girl’s face, but he doesn’t need to; he can hear the attraction, the awe in her voice when she answers.  
“Of course not. But bring him back when you two are finished?”

Damian is almost certain that she’s hoping more for Grayson’s return than his. The older man doesn’t notice, per usual.  
“I promise”, Grayson says, a lazy, pleasant smile on his lips; his eyes dart to Damian’s face for a moment, leave him breathless. “But if you could excuse us for now…”

 

Grayson leads outside on one of the balconies, although the air is cold and crisp and the other is wearing what looks like black fabric painted across his body, leaving almost nothing to imagination. Even less than it did inside, Damian notices and hopes that Grayson doesn’t notice his breath hitching, that it’s dark enough to conceal the blood colouring his cheeks pink. Underneath the shirt, Grayson’s nipples have hardened, peaking through the thin fabric.

“Well, she was cute. Even if you seemed dreadfully bored”, the other comments, and it does happen more often these days that Damian is glad for what an oblivious idiot Grayson is.  
“Tt.” Damian turns to look at the moon, the stars, anything but the smile on Grayson’s lips, the faint flush the champagne has left on his cheeks, the way his eyes seem an almost brighter blue when looking out from behind the mask. “Not my type.”  
“Aw, I didn’t know you had a type, Dami”, Grayson all but coos, steps closer, until he can rest his hand on Damian’s arm. It’s warm, even through the two layers of clothes he is wearing, almost makes him shiver. This is why he is trying to avoid going on patrol with Nightwing, the other is just so horribly _distracting_.  
He doesn’t answer, wouldn’t know how, because he does have a type – fair skin, blue eyes and dark hair, the grace of an acrobat and the heart of a child who has never known pain – but he is not about to tell Grayson anything about that.

Silence stretches between them, Grayson’s hand still annoyingly warm on his arm, until the other sighs, steps even closer. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Grayson is doing it on purpose.  
“Thanks, by the way”, his former mentor finally says, softly, almost wistful. Damian risks a look at his face and regrets it immediately; Grayson has removed his mask, and he appears to have been wrong: it’s not the black surrounding the other’s eyes that made them shine so brightly tonight. “You know, for humouring me with this. I know it’s not really your thing, dressing up and socialising, so yeah. Thanks.”  
He sounds so perfectly _earnest_ it’s making Damian question if there really can be more than ten years of age difference between them, but then again, Grayson has never acted, or looked, his age.  
“You’re welcome”, Damian replies anyway.

“You know, when I was still a kid, Halloween was my favourite holiday. Probably because of the dressing up, really, but also because… because Raya and Raymond and I, we’d go trick-and-treating, a new city each year. It’d be a little adventure, for just the three of us.” He’s smiling, reminiscing when Damian looks over again, blue, blue eyes fixed on a point far in the distance. “Do you have a favourite holiday, little prince?”  
The question takes him off guard, both because Damian is busy watching Grayson’s lips move and because it is delivered in the same tone, like it is part of the story the other was just telling.  
“Don’t be ridiculous.” It takes a moment too long before Damian answers, tears his gaze away, but he does. “Of course not.”  
“Then one you despise less than the others?”

Grayson has turned to face him, expression open and voice light, playful, nothing wistful about it anymore. Damian scowls.  
“Absolutely not.”  
“Aw, come on”, Grayson whines, _whines_ , like a _child_. “Is it Easter? Because of all the bunnies and tiny, fluffy fledgling chickens?”  
“I am not a toddler, Grayson.”  
“Is it Christmas, then? Snow and presents and reindeer?”  
“ _Grayson_.”  
“ _Damian_. I promise I won’t tell anyone. Not even if it’s, I dunno. Valentine’s Day. Well, I might tell someone if it’s that, but the point still stands. Please?”

The thing is that Damian has a favourite holiday, or, maybe, not a holiday per se, but one celebration he looks forward to most, one day which he seriously considers a joyous occasion, fit to be celebrated. Not that that means he is inclined to share that information with Grayson.  
“Pretty please?”, the other tries again anyway, although he should know by now that excessive begging doesn’t work on someone with Damian’s patience and training. But then again, Grayson doesn’t learn these things like other people would, has more hope and optimism stored inside that capable body of his than is good for him. “I’ll owe you a favour if you tell me. I could take you to see that panda you keep unsubtly trying to tell me about.”  
It’s both embarrassing that someone like Grayson has picked up on his method of persuasion and a very interesting offer, because Damian really wants to see the pandas and he wants to see them together with Grayson, even if only because he’ll be able to compare the other to the monkeys the zoo has later. Because he knows that the comparison will make Grayson laugh, the kind of laughter that has him throw back his head, leaving his throat bared and his body shaking with mirth.  
“No.”

“Ooh, but that means you have one. A favourite”, Grayson sing-songs, and Damian groans, because of course that is what his former mentor would focus on. Damn him. “Two favours, then? If you tell me.”  
“Forget it, Grayson.”  
“Three? And I’ll take you to the zoo. We can even get ice cream. Or cotton candy.”  
“I will not-“  
“Please, Dami?”  
His voice is pleading and just a tad too annoying and Grayson owing him three favours _plus_ a zoo visit sounds tempting and yet Damian doesn’t know what makes him say it. He is better than this, or at least should be.    
“Your birthday”, he says.  
 It’s only a second later that he realises that lying would also have been an option.

“How about- what?”  
Lying would have been the superior option, even.  
Damian’s cheeks are burning, but it’s too late; the only thing he can still do is try and salvage what he still can. It comes out all wrong.  “I do not care for holidays. But I care for you.”  
He doesn’t say any more, because he just knows that it would make things even worse, not better, and unlike Grayson, he never needed the reassurance of constant chatter. Unlike Grayson, who is staring at him without blinking, cogs visibly turning behind those blue eyes, those flushed cheeks. It’s too much for Damian to bear; because he has said too much when he should have stayed silent, because if Grayson had said something like this, it would have been sweet and just like him. When Damian said it, it revealed more than he wanted the other to know.

There is a pause again, silence that seems to stretch for as long as Damian was forced to stay on this godforsaken party, and he cannot look at Grayson, because the other man has always worn his feelings on his tongue and his lips and the look in his eyes and Damian can take much, but not a look of disgust on Richard Grayson’s face.  
It seems to take forever, and then, although there is a party going on just a few metres away from them, it’s a breath Grayson lets out that breaks the silence between them. Just a breath, the faintest, softest of sounds, and Damian wants to look up and yet doesn’t dare to.  
“Oh Dami…”, he mutters, like it’s barely a thought he is voicing. He sounds surprised, but not upset, almost fond, and Damian keeps his eyes away from Grayson still.

And yet, suddenly staying quiet isn’t enough anymore, because that hint of affection in Grayson’s voice is enough to remind him forcibly why he cannot bear to lose this, not today and not ever.  
“It’s not – it’s not what you think, Grayson”, he says quickly, stumbling over his words in a way that would have forced his mother to have him whipped, or something worse, even.  
“It isn’t?”, Grayson asks, and his voice is still so soft, so familiar, like the touch of a feather against his skin. “What do you think I think it is?”  
“You think-“, Damian starts and stops again, not sure if he can speak those words, which he has tried his very best to bury deep inside him, out-loud. But he has started, he has to finish it, even if his explanation is lacking, to say the very least. “- that my feelings, the ones I have towards you, that they are not of the platonic kind.”  
Again, there is nothing, and Damian can feel his flush, if that is possible, deepen, his heart picking up its pace until his chest feels ready to burst. The beginning of panic, he knows, and yet cannot repress like he should be able to.  
“Are they?”, Grayson asks, still soft, but careful now, like he is tasting the words, savouring them.  
“Of course!”  
Maybe he is speaking too fast, Damian doesn’t know anymore, doesn’t know if he is overanalysing, if he is overreacting, if he has lost already. He might have.  
“So you’d mind it if I kissed you right now?”

“Yes, I-“, Damian’s words die on his tongue, leaving it feeling too large for his mouth; he has never known his former mentor to be cruel. “Grayson, I will not be mocked!”  
Before he knows it, he is looking up at the other, who looks calm, composed, happy even, while Damian feels fire ignite in his stomach, angry and white-hot.  
“I’m not mocking you, Dami”, Grayson has the audacity to say, sounding mercilessly gentle.  
“Yes, you are!”, he hisses, hating that he still has to look up at the other. Hating that Grayson can make him feel like this, vulnerable and raw and still desperately in love with his former mentor. “Of course you are! Why else would you suggest such a thing?”  
“Because I want to kiss you”, Grayson answers, daring to sound amused, as if he wasn’t continuing to make Damian suffer.  
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Damian is not just desperately in love, he’s desperate. “Why would you want to kiss me?”

This time, he doesn’t get an answer, at least not right away. Instead, Grayson reaches out, and it must be the fear still crushing Damian’s heart that makes him react so slowly, allow the other man to grip his chin lightly, and it’s too late, he’s lost.  
Grayson’s fingertips are calloused and warm, gentle against his skin, and the words Damian could say are forgotten before they are spoken out-loud. The fingers lift his chin until Damian cannot look away anymore, not without closing his eyes and admitting defeat, and as soon as their eyes meet, Damian doesn’t want to anymore. Because while he expected to see some kind of mirth in Grayson’s eyes, a testament to a joke gone just the way he wanted it to, he sees warmth, sees hopeful joy, sees love. Sees what he feels when he looks at Grayson.

As if he is reading his thoughts, Grayson tilts his head slightly, artfully tousled hair falling into blue, blue eyes; there is a smile on his lips still, and Damian is lost in this, in him.  
“Because maybe my favourite holiday is your birthday, too.”  
There’s a breathless second in which Damian’s brain is trying its hardest to catch up with a situation that seems impossible, and then there is nothing he can think about anymore, because Grayson leans in and kisses him. It’s a soft, gentle press of lips, dry and chaste, and Damian cannot move and melts against him still.

A whine is threatening to escape when they part again, slowly, like it’s as hard for Grayson to move away as it is for Damian, like it feels like a dream to the other as well.  
Grayson’s fingers are still on his chin, but trail down now until it is resting lightly against Damian’s neck, not pulling him in, not keeping him here. Not that he would have to.  
“Do you mean it?”, Damian asks, because he has to hear Grayson say it, make this real. Instead, it just makes the other man laugh, his breath warm and wet against Damian’s lips.  
“Would I have kissed you if I didn’t?”, Grayson – Richard – replies, and kisses him again, like he is trying to prove something. It’s not enough.

“Grayson-“, Damian mutters, still against soft, gentle lips. “ _Richard_.”  
The other pulls back, confusion transforming into understanding within a few moments, making Damian wonder just how he was able to keep his secret for this long, when Grayson can read him so easily.  
“Need me to spell it out for you, do you, little prince?”, Richard asks, and again, his voice is amused, but fond, like this is endearing to him somehow. He strokes his fingers across Damian’s pulse point, a fleeting touch that makes him tremble, because it’s been years in which he has dreamt of Richard’s hands on him like this, loving and confident. “Alright. I am ridiculously and utterly and hopelessly head over heels for you, Damian. Have been for some, oh, _years_ now, and I don’t think it’s going to change anytime soon. And I never would have said anything, because I was so scared that I’d put you off or scare you away, and I didn’t think and still don’t think that I could possibly live with that.”  
Richard leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth, his lips still curl upwards, like he is trying to press his smile into Damian’s skin.  
“So yes, I mean this, I really do”, he continues, and Damian can feel something break open inside of him, a wall he has built up to keep his feelings away from the surface slowly crumbling with every kiss, every word. “All of this. And if you want this, if you want me, you can have it.”

Another kiss, this time pressed to his cheek, and then Richard pulls away until he can look at Damian properly. And maybe Richard is seeing something he did not expect, because his eyes widen, and he looks so open, so vulnerable it almost hurts, and maybe he wouldn’t have had to say anything at all, because Damian can read every emotion in the blue of his eyes, the curve of his smile.  
“I do. Of course”, Damian answers, and for once, doesn’t think about his reply before he gives it; there is no need. And it’s worth it, because those four words are enough to turn Richard’s smile into him beaming at Damian, wide and bright and gorgeous.  
“So no romantic feelings?”, Richard asks, a hint of mischief in his voice, and leans in, asks for a kiss without words, and Damian cannot keep his own lips from smiling, cannot keep himself from giving in and kissing his older brother, first friend, former mentor, new lover.  
And mutters against Richard’s lips, “None.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> In case you want to say hi, send me a prompt, or tell me something nice, you can find me on Tumblr here:  
> [X](http://www.coloursflyaway.tumblr.com)


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